


The Eyes are Watching

by glitterpop



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Eyes and Teeth, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Unstable Character, actually there are just so many mentions of those things in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterpop/pseuds/glitterpop
Summary: Ford is more selfish than he's willing to admit





	

Ford sits at his desk, unmoving, shoulders hunched to his ears. Scattered on the desk and around his feet are crumpled postcards, each with the start of a plea that made him feel sick to his stomach. Each not good enough to send. What was sufficient for this situation? What would best convey his urgency without looking like he was desperate? The idea of seeming desperate tasted like ash in his mouth, but it is nothing compared to the taste of blood every time he sees eyes in the corner of his vision.

Watching.

_Mocking._

His pen gives a dangerous creak in his hand and he forces himself to breathe. Just breathe. There are no eyes, there _can’t_ be, not here… but, he’s not sure that’s true. There could be eyes where he can’t see, he’s not sure, he wasn’t _there…_ Where was he? He can’t remember. He’s scared of this black hole in his mind, but it’s not black. No, the hole isn’t black. It’s yellow and filled with teeth, and those _eyes._ Do the voices come from the hole? They whisper from the hole, he thinks, teeth shifting and mocking as they whisper gleeful invitations, come on come on _come on_ there’s a party, a party we’re all invited, they whisper and mock and the eyes don’t blink, _they don’t blink—_

He bites his tongue again, breathing easy when he tastes copper.

The postcard sits blank in front of him. The pen is clenched in his fist. The mailman comes in less than an hour and he needs to have this done by then, he has to move, move just move his hand, he has to he has to he has to come, he just has to come, what if he doesn’t come? Can he trust him? What if he sees the eyes and runs? Ford wants to run, every day he wants to run, but he _can’t_ , there’s nowhere he can hide. How can he hide? How can he hide, he can’t hide, he won’t hide, he’ll come he’ll come, he’ll come because he loves Ford and what happened—

_It doesn’t matter_ , he thinks viciously, eyes burning and red in his skull.

Slowly the pen moves, writing an address he had to ask his mother for. He remembers her joy, and how broken he felt inside. She’d been so happy, her heart set on reconciliation, and Ford and grinned until his chapped lips cracked and bled, hoping she couldn’t sense his unraveling mind and the simmering contempt, but it wasn’t the time, this isn’t the time, there’s no _time_ , and doesn’t he love Ford? Hasn’t he always loved Ford? Isn’t that why… why he…

The eyes are closer now.

Eyes. Eye. All the same. No iris. Slit pupil. All… grinning at him. Every time he turns, wanting to scream, there’s only a statue, or a picture. No mirrors; he’d broken them all within a day, terrified by his face and what could be underneath it. Sometimes he feels it under his skin, that eye. He feels it crawling its way to his own eyes, he feels it trying to gain control. He has to stay awake or the eye will get him. He drinks coffee, he drinks things he’s come up with, he punches himself in the face when the eye gets too close to its goal. The voices laugh through their teeth when he does this, the yellow hole in his mind spinning with glee, they just keep laughing and laughing, all the time, it’s so _funny_ what he’s doing, how he struggles, have they ever _seen_ something so funny? Have they ever _seen—_

**PLEASE COME!** he writes finally, licking the taste of ash out of the cracks of his teeth.

\---

Ford wakes up on the kitchen floor, breathless and terrified.

He’d been on his way to the kitchen, body heavy with exhaustion, wanting coffee and a break, just one break, just a little tiny… His body had betrayed him halfway to his goal, though, and he’d passed out on the floor. He dreamed, he remembers he dreamed, but he can’t remember what he dreamed. It must have gone in the yellow hole, eaten by those gnashing teeth, those grinning whispering gnashing teeth, they ate his dreams, ate them whole, what will they eat next? He isn’t sure, is afraid to find out. What did he dream? What did the slit-pupil eye say to him?

Ford lays there on his stomach, mouth opening and closing, fingers curled into claws. The voices are laughing at him, eyes dancing in his peripheral, and all he can do is lay there, all he can do is lay there and take it, it makes him mad, it makes him furious. He wants to tear those eyes out of whatever sockets they exist in, squeeze them with all twelve fingers until they pop, pop pop pop pop all over his fingers until there are no more eyes, he wants—

He begins to scream.

He’s not sure how long he screams for; time is slippery and wobbly for him from all the times he’s been taken over, and he hasn’t gotten his bearings back yet. He screams, though, and screams and screams, until his throat is raw. When they finally taper off, he thinks he may start crying, but tears don’t come. Tears never come. It’s relief and betrayal rolled into one, the taste familiar on his tongue, weight familiar, feeling like a name, like—

He props himself up, finally, on shaking hands. The eyes watch him, heavy and intent, he can feel them, he can he can… Where is he? Where is he?

He turns his hands over and his thoughts crash and burn at what he sees.

There, written in heavy block letters across both his palms, is a single sentence.

**_WHA T LO VEL Y E Y E S YOUH AVE_ **

Lurching forward, stomach empty, Ford dry heaves until bile scrapes his raw throat on fire and dribbles off his tongue. He keeps heaving, shaking hands held far away from his body, until tears finally do escape his eyes. Crying, he opens his mouth, expecting to scream. All that comes out is a loud, long wail. It sounds _terrible_ , like a ghost mourning for something it can’t have anymore. He supposes he’s not too far away from that now.

He stumbles blindly to his feet, weaving across the kitchen until he reaches the sink. He twists the knob and shoves his hands under the water. It’s hot, too hot, and they immediately begin to turn red; Ford doesn’t take notice of this. All he does is grab the sponge and begin attacking his palms with the coarse, abrasive side, tears still streaming down his face.

Lovely eyes, lovely eyes. Has he been told that before? He supposes he must have. Has the eye told him that before? Has he? He can’t remember, the memory must be in the yellow pit and Ford would just as soon stick his head in hydrochloric acid than stick his hand into that pit and feel around. No use, no use for them. What good was the memory? What good wasn’t it? It was _his_ , it should be with _him,_ not in the _fucking pit with those eyes those fucking eyes watching it watching his memories—_

Does the eye want his eyes for the pit?

Ford startles at the thought, but concludes it must be true. Take his eyes, replace it with the eye. Nothing to stand in its way then, right? His eyes would go into the pit to be eaten along with his dreams, eaten by the teeth, chewed and crushed and shredded forever and ever and ever and the single eye, that eyes that _fucking eye_ would be there laughing and laughing and opening the door for those teeth all those teeth, and what could he do? What could he do?

A knock on the door is his answer.

Ford startles, taking his red and raw fingers out of the water. The words are gone, along with a couple layers of skin, but he’s not bleeding. Does he still bleed red? His grinning lips had bled red, but maybe that had changed, maybe—

The door. Who was at the door?

He storms over to it, grabbing a crossbow on his way. No one was going to steal _anything_ from him… at least, nothing that hadn’t already been stolen; his dreams, his memories, his hopes… his sanity.

No. No more.

“Who is it?” he yells as he yanks open the door, taking aim without really looking. “Have you come to steal my eyes?”

A long pause follows, then, finally-

“Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.”

That _voice_ , he’d know that voice _anywhere_ … wouldn’t he?

He sees himself standing in front of him. Or, at least, someone close enough to himself that it’s easy to blur the lines. Almost immediately his world calms; the voices quiet instantly, and though the eyes remain, Ford finds he can think past them, can almost focus.

His world calms, but inside he’s thrown into turmoil at the sight of his twin standing in front of him after so long.

He looks… different. Less somehow. The last time he’d seen his twin he’d been thick with muscle, loud and bright with life. The man standing before him more closely resembles a skeleton, with a starved, half-crazed shine to his eyes. It’s a far cry from the person he remembers, but there’s no _time_ to take it in, no _time_ for the gaunt cheekbones, the concave belly, the tattered clothes that don’t look nearly warm enough, the—

“Stanley,” he starts, setting down the crossbow. He barely leans out the door and glances around. “Were you followed? Do you know?”

“Hello to you too pal,” Stanley says, voice derisive, eyes shifty. Something bristles in Ford at this; why would Stanley look away? Is he hiding his eyes? He would know Stanley anywhere… _wouldn’t he?_ Growling, frustrated, Ford reaches out and twists his fists into the collar of Stanley’s jacket and drags him forward. Something in his gut jumps with how _easy_ it is to pull Stanley now, jumps at the startled, involuntarily scared cry Stanley gives, but _never mind that,_ never mind, first he has to see, has to make sure...

He grabs a flashlight next to his door and shines the light close to Stanley’s eye. The pupils constrict on themselves as Stan gives a pained shout, but Ford pays it no head. The pupils are fine, they look like his, just like his, what _lovely_ eyes but no, no no no, no they’re fine, a tired, bloodshot red instead of yellow. Ford breathes out slowly.

“What are you doing?” Stanley cries, shoving Ford’s hands off him. Ford lets him, backs away slowly, breathes heavily through clenched teeth.

“Sorry,” he says finally, raking his eyes over the man in front of him. “Sorry, I just…” He pauses. It’s… startling, to say the least, how much his brother has changed. Stanley stands in front of him, swaying, bags black bruise heavy under his eyes, trembling a little as the wind blows cold through the open door.

Could he do this? Could he help Ford like this? He looks at Ford, cracked lips moving like he wants to say something, like Ford holds the answers of the universe. He looks at Ford like Ford thought he would look at death at this point; like salvation, like a second chance.

Yes, he could help Ford. He _would_ help Ford. Stanley loves him, doesn’t he? Stanley _owes_ him, doesn’t he?

“Well, uh,” he shifts his eyes around, aware of being watched. The voices have grown silent, but the eyes have grown wider, drinking in the sight of the brothers, hungry for more. “It’s nothing. Come in, come in,” he mutters, drawing his coat close around him and turning away. He hears Stanley’s footsteps behind him, but just barely. When had his twin learned to walk so quietly? The teeth move in the pit like they want to answer, but they hold their silence.

“What’s going on? Why are you holed up in the woods like some crazy guy waiting for the apocalypse?” Ford inadvertently laughs at that, a sharp bark of a sound. Stanley grows quiet before letting out an aggravated huff. He sounds annoyed, but Ford knows him well enough to know that the annoyance is to mask the confusion his twin must be feeling. Or… wasn’t it? It’d been so long… So, so long, with so many things happening, so many things, so many eyes all watching him, watching him the eyes have grown so _wide_ it’s like, it’s like they’re watching a show, waiting for the twist, the grand finale.

There would be no finale. Not with Stanley here now.

He grabs up his journal, the first one, the only one he has now. The others are hidden, safe… hopefully. Maybe. Better than in the house at least. Better far away from him, no matter how much it hurt. All that work, all that _joy…_ and now he can’t have it. Had to bury it like some shameful secret, but it _is,_ it is his most shameful secret. The only other secret close to it in shame is—

“Hey,” Stanley says quietly, watching Ford as he walks past him, journal clenched to his chest. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Ford feels a hand on his back and freezes before shuddering. He hasn’t been touched kindly in _so long_ , not even by himself, why now, why him, why does Stanley have to _touch him_ like this? Stanley feels the shudder course through him and takes his hand away quickly. Ford can feel eyes pressing into the back of his head, knows these belong to his twin, and wants to face them just as little as he wants to face the other eyes.

“Ford?”

“There’s no time,” Ford tells him, facing Stanley despite the simmering feelings he’s trying to suppress. “There’s no _time_ , Stanley. I’ve… made mistakes. Huge ones.” Stanley’s eyes widen when Ford says this, and something in Ford twists at that, at the idea that Stanley can be startled that Ford could have done something wrong. “I don’t know who I can trust. I wasn’t sure… I didn’t know if you would come.”

“’Course I came, you’re my brother,” Stanley tells him. Just like that, like that’s all there was to it. The same thing in Ford twists harder, and it tastes weird on his tongue, mixing with the resentment in him, the anger and ash coating his tongue like oil. He hates it, he _hates_ it, but there’s _no time_. The eyes are moving closer, closer and closer, the eyes are growing teeth and they’re _smiling_ at him, it’s awful, it’s so awful and they’re _watching_ him.

“Thank you,” is all he says, swallowing his mixed emotions down. The words hollow out his chest.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Stanley tells him earnestly, sunken eyes wide. “I woulda been here sooner, I-I drove nonstop once I got your letter, but I had to sleep, just for a bit, an hour, but I really tried—“

“Thank you,” Ford repeats, cutting Stanley off, not wanting to hear it. There is no _time_ , it is running out, he can’t just stand here and listen to his brother ramble like this. “I have something to show you. I’ll explain it then. It’s… you won’t understand, probably.”

Ford doesn’t know why Stanley’s face twists the way it does after he says that; a mix of pain, bitterness, shame, and a dull sort of pride.

“Try me.”

\---

“There is nothing about this I understand,” Stanley tells him blankly after a long minute of silence. Ford sighs.

“It’s a trans-universal gateway. It’s meant to detect the weak spot in our dimension and—“ Ford notices the lost look in Stanley’s eyes and grits his teeth, blowing air out his nose. “It’s a portal, essentially. Meant to connect one dimension to the next. It was _supposed_ to be used for knowledge, so I could understand the universe… but I’m afraid something terrible is on the other side. Something evil. I shut it down, I hid my journals that explain how it works…”

Ford pulls the journal away from where he’d been cradling it against his chest, looks at it for a long moment. His life’s work was in it, everything he’d ever wanted to accomplish. So many stories, so many memories. All of it lost today, after this moment. He wishes he could cry again, but Stanley is staring at him and he thinks he’d rather choke.

“Except this one. I _can’t_ know where this one is hidden. If I know where they all are, then… others might find out.” He looks up, sees the eyes staring at him from all directions, and swallows heavily. “You’re the only one I can trust with this now.” Isn’t that funny, the eyes seem to convey. Isn’t that just the _funniest thing_ , trusting Stanley, trusting his twin with this, wasn’t that just the most backwards, _funniest_ thing?

“What are you saying?”

“I have something to ask of you,” Ford says, handing Stanley his journal. When his twin takes it, it feels like a part of him has been taken away. Like a piece of his soul has died. “Do you remember when we were kids and found that boat? How we promised we’d sail away one day? Do you remember that?”

Stanley looks up quickly, eyes shining, mouth open. He looks close to tears, Ford thinks, confused. Stanley’s mouth slowly twists into an open-mouthed grin; it’s the most alive Ford has seen his brother look since he’d gotten here.

“Take this book and get on a boat,” Ford tells him, and the smile on his brother’s face freezes. His brother’s entire body seems to freeze. “Take it away from here, as far away as you can get. The other side of the world for all I care, just _not here_.” Ford turns away from his brother, walking back to the portal, thinking of ways to dismantle it. If he gets it done quickly, maybe the eyes will leave… maybe the pit will start to close, maybe—

“What?”

“What,” Ford parrots, turning around. Stanley hasn’t moved _at all_ , is just standing there looking crestfallen, clutching Ford’s journal tightly in his hands.

“That’s _it?_ ” At Ford’s blank look, Stanley laughs a little hysterically. “That’s _all_? You call me to the middle of _bumfuck nowhere_ in the middle of winter, after ten years of silence, just to tell me to get as far away from you as I can? That’s _all you wanted?_ ”

“Grow up Stanley,” Ford spits out, frustrated with his twin. “This is _bigger_ than you and anything you’ve ever done.”

“You think I haven’t done anything with my life?” Stanley asks, voice shrill. “I’ve done _plenty_ , poindexter, I’ve done shit you can’t even _imagine_.”

“Stanley, you have no idea what’s happening! You-you don’t understand what I’ve _been_ through,” Ford yells, beginning to pace. The eyes are pulsing around him, closing in. There’s still no whispering; the voices have stopped since Stanley’s arrival for reasons Ford can’t begin to explain, but the eyes haven’t left. They watch him and his twin raptly, never blinking, God, why don’t they _blink_?

“No!” Stanley barks out. “You have no idea what I’ve been through at all! I’ve been to _jail_ , Ford, in three different countries! I had to _chew my way out of the trunk of a car_! I-I,” Stanley flounders for a moment, hands reaching up and tangling in his hair. “I have a _mullet_ Ford! You have _no idea_ the things I’ve been through!”

“Whose fault is it that those things happened to you?” Ford asks pointedly, feeling his face twist into a sneer. There’s a huge but brief flash of guilt at the way Stanley’s jaw drops open in shock, at the hurt look that passes through his eyes, before he shakes it off. “Look, Stanley—“

“I don’t know why I ever expected you to have changed, to have been _anything_ other than selfish—“

“ _I’m selfish_? How can you say that? You cost me my dream school, you cost me _everything_ , just because you selfishly couldn’t stand to be alone with yourself!”

“It was an accident, Ford!” Stanley says angrily, eyes spitting fire. Ford grits his teeth, says nothing. “I can’t believe you—“

“I’m giving you a chance to finally do something worthwhile in your life,” he blurts out, frustrated beyond all reason. “Something _good_ with the shit-show you’ve made of yourself! Why won’t you listen?”

“Listen?” Stanley whispers after a long moment, face twisting in fury and grief. “I _have_ been listening, Ford. I’ve heard everything loud and clear.” Stanley doesn’t break eye contact and he reaches down and roots around him his pocket. Ford watches, rapt and full of growing alarm for reasons he can’t place. “You want me to get rid of this book? _Fine._ I’ll get rid of it.”

Ford watches in horror as Stanley pulls a lighter out of his pocket.

“No!” he cries, lunging forward and trying to grab the journal back.

“It’s _mine_ ,” Stanley hisses, trying to get it back. “You gave it to me, and I’m gonna get rid of it like you so _nicely_ asked!”

“You can’t!” Ford growls, pleads. Stanley rips the book out of his hands and holds the lighter to the corner of it. His eyes stay trained on Ford, dancing from the light of the small flame. He looks vindictive, crazed, he looks- broken, shattered, half-starved and out of options. He looks like his world is crumbling around him.

Ford doesn’t think twice before tackling him.

Things get… blurry for a minute. They’re knocking into things, throwing punches and kicks, shouting insults. Ford hasn’t ever really been in a fight before; he’d ducked out of as much boxing as he could, and when bullies had come when he was a kid, Stanley was always there to throw punches for him. He’s unused to the surge of adrenaline, coupled with the heat of rage and terror at the eyes, at Stanley for not _seeing_ the eyes, for not understanding what’s going on.

“You left me!” Stanley screams from above him, bringing his fist back.

“You made me!” Ford screams back, shooting his foot out and catching Stanley in the chest. He knocks Stanley back against a panel, holds him there with his foot. Blood is rushing through his ears, a flare of victory rising in his gut. Stanley’s face is twisted into something grotesque, body writhing under his foot. Ford holds him there, presses his foot harder, wants Stanley to _give up—_

Stanley’s screams break through to him only a moment before the smell hits him.

His foot comes back to him immediately, and he watches horrified as Stanley falls forward, motionless. His eyes sting at the smell; smoke, and burned cotton, and, worst of all, something close to bacon. Stanley’s clutching his shoulder, groaning, fingers brushing the edge of the brand Ford had inadvertently placed on him.

He feels like throwing up again. He feels-he feels… like he’s been turned inside out. Stanley isn’t even screaming anymore, just making that awful moaning noise as he struggles to stand. Ford can’t take his eyes off the brand. Brand he’d branded he’d branded his brother, his _twin_ , he’d branded _Stanley_ , and-and…

“Stanley, I-I’m so, I’m so sorry,” he stammers through numb lips. He reaches forward, wants to grab Stanley, wants to rip the brand off of him, wants—

Screaming, Stanley surges forward and punches Ford across the face. Back on the defensive, Ford grabs Stanley’s fist as he comes back for a second hit. His brother, already weak and hurt, is easy to push away. Too easy, Ford realizes, watching Stanley go hurtling across the room. He knocks into the lever, pushing it. Ford barely notices; the journal has been dropped, and he swoops in and grabs it up. Guilty, indignant and scared, Ford marches over to his brother, watches his face morph into anger and fear, face backlit with shadows cutting deep under his cheekbones.

“Get away from there,” he orders, but Stanley sneers, takes a step back.

“Some brother you turned out to be,” he tells Ford, raising his chin. “You never cared about me, you only ever cared about yourself and your dumb mysteries.”

“How dare you,” Ford hisses, seeing red. “None of this would have happened if only you’d cared about someone other than _yourself_ and not ruined my life ten years ago! Now just take the damn book and _leave!_ ”

He shoves the book into Stanley’s arms.

Stanley, probably woozy from pain and exhaustion, loses his footing and stumbles back.

Stanley, eyes widening, is picked up off the floor, drawn back to the portal.

Ford looks on horrified, sees the eyes looking on, gleeful as always, hungry like never before. He sees the teeth in the pit open wide, hears the voices suddenly, screaming in joy, screaming in rage, screaming screaming oh God it’s so loud it’s so so so why won’t it stop _why won’t it_ —

“Ford!” Stanley calls out, flailing his arms. The journal is clutched in one of his hands, and the other he reaches out towards him. “Ford, what’s happening?”

For a second Ford can’t form words, blinded by the eyes and deafened by the screaming-laughing teeth. He shakes his head, sees his brother’s panicked face, sees him inches from the portal, and cries out.

“Stanley! Oh my God, hold on!” Still, even as he turns around, rushes towards the lever, he knows it’s too late. He won’t make it. The eyes are telling him, saying over and over and over _fresh meat fresh meat boys we got some fresh meat!_

“Ford!” Stanley’s voice is far, so far, it’s drowned out by the teeth and voices and the humming of the portal itself. Ford reaches the lever, grabs it, turns to face his brother. He goes limp, seeing his brother most of the way through the portal. _“Ford help me! Don’t let me--!”_

Before Ford can throw the switch, he’s knocked back by a powerful shockwave. Tumbling across the floor, he clutches his head and cries out. His ears are deafened; by the shock, by the voices, by Stanley’s voice calling for him, by _everything_ , God, everything why can’t he why why why can’t he find some fucking _peace_ does he even _deserve_ peace, does he does he?

He hiccups, picks himself up, looks towards the portal. It grown dark and quiet. Nothing’s come out of it- no eye, no gnashing, crashing teeth, no evil… but no brother, either.

Stanley’s gone.

Ford, lost and exhausted, thinks miserably-

_At least the journal is gone_ -

-and instantly wants to throw up again. How could he think that? _Stanley_ , oh God Stanley was-is-might be _dead_ and all he can think of his very first thought how could he how could he and those fucking _eyes_ that eye is laughing at him at his pain, oh God, was Stanley facing that eye now? Was he facing it, him, was he? Stanley didn’t know anything because Ford hadn’t told him, didn’t think he needed to, _good going_ the voices are whispering, _good going good job you killed your brother your twin who just wanted to HELP who just wanted to LOVE YOU you KILLED HIM YOU KILLED HIM THANKS FOR THE MEAT FRESH MEAT THANKS THANKS THANKS SIXER FREAK FUCK UP THANKS._

Ford passes out.

\---

**H ITHE RE SIXER!**

_Ford startles, tries to move but finds he can’t. Looking around, he sees nothing but darkness. No eye, no form, no portal or basement for brother poor brother oh God what now?_

_“Bill,” he bites out._

**OH SOY OU DO REM E MBER MYNAM E! AND HERE ITHOUGHT YOU’DF ORGOTT EN IT!**

_Bill. Bill Bill it always came back to Bill, didn’t it? Dreams are the only place he says the name now, only when Bill shows up but Bill always shows up, Bill’s always there even when he’s awake. He can’t say the name though he just can’t, it feels blasphemous, like a calling like a demand like if he says it, Bill will be there again in his body instead of the fevered imaginings of Bill in his body. Bill can only find him in his dreams, except._

_Bill isn’t here._

**HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA YEA H YOU’L L HAVETO PARD ONM Y ABSENC E I’MA LITTLEB USY! WHATWITH OU R NEWTOY YOUS O KIND LY SENT US!**

_“Stanley,” Ford gasps, chest constricting. “You stay away from him! He has nothing to do with this!”_

**OH OFCOURSE HEDOE SN’T! DOESN’ T EV ENKNO W ABOU T ME! BUT IKNOW ALLA BOUT HIM!**

_“Leave him alone!”_

**ORWHAT? YOU ‘LL COMEFIG HT ME? DOIT! OPE N THEPO RTAL! COMEF OR YOURTWIN!**

_Ford flounders at that. He’s dying for Stanley, guilt and fear eating at his heart, but the portal- if it opens- he can’t put Bill into this world, he just **can’t**. Can he? Could he? He could…_

**TICKTOCK SIX ER! STAN LEY CAN ‘TLAS T F O R E V E R! THE NAGA IN WHY WOUL DYOU COM E FORTH E GUYW HO RUI NED YOURLIFE? EVE N IFIT WASJ UST AN ACCI D ENT?**

_“Shut up.” Ford meant it to come out commanding and fearless, but it barely makes a sound past his lips. It feels like a lead ball has formed in his stomach._

**OHDON’T PLA Y COY! I’VEBEE NIN YOUR HEADSIXER! I KNO W ALLAB OUT STANLEY! I KNOWALL ABO UT THA T NIGHT! I KNOW YOUKNOW ITWA S AN ACC I DENT!**

_“No,” Ford whispers, despairing._

**OHYES! YO U ACCEP TED IT! STANLEY L O V E S YOUAND YO U KNO WIT! IGET WHYYOU’D ST I L LBE MADTHO UGH! I’DHAT E TOCON STANTLYSE E SOMEON E THATLOOK SJUST LI KEME FAI L AT EVERYTHI NG!WH AT A T E R R I B L E REMIN DEROF WHA T COULDHAVEBEEN!**

_Ford’s head hangs. He wants to curl into a ball, wants to hide from what Bill’s saying because because it’s **true** it’s true it’s all true. Stanley **loves** him and even if what he did was terrible and wrong, he never would have wanted to **hurt** Ford, not like that. Never like that. Not Stanley, not his protector, not the one who’d believed and supported Stanford from the start. He’d known but he’d been so **angry** , so **hurt** , and… and… scared. He’d been scared. Stanley had ruined everything, and if he’d stayed… At least far away, Ford could fix his life without worrying… He’d…_

_"Please,” he finally says. “Please, please leave Stanley alone. He doesn’t deserve it.”_

**HEHAS N’T DESER VEDALOT OF THING S! WHAT’SONE MOR E ADD ED TO THE PILE? BUTILIKE YOU’ RE BEGGING! TEL LYOU WHAT! OPE N THE PORT AL ANDI’LL GIVEY OU A CHAN CE TOSAVE YOUR BROTH ER!**

_“You’ll kill us all,” Ford protests._

**NOT ALL! JUSTMOST! TIME’STI CKING SIXE R! SOMEBROTHER YOU’D BEIF YOULE TME CATCHYOU R BROTHER!**

\---

Ford wakes up, head pounding, to see the portal still dark and dead in front of him. The eyes have mostly receded, the voices soft. They’re waiting, he realizes, to see what he’ll do. What will he do? What can he do? Stanley… Stanley Stanley LeeLeeLee Lee is he is he has to.

Legs heavy, mind fuzzy, he stands and checks over the instrument panels. They’ve been overloaded from the sudden start, not meant to be activated so quickly, but it’s fixable. There’s enough fuel for one more opening, just a quick one, maybe quick enough to…

The smell of burning flesh hits him suddenly. It’s brief, just a memory, but it’s enough to send him crashing to his knees, gagging. God, he’d _branded_ his brother, his twin, he’d _held him in place and branded him._ Who did that? What kind of twin did that? What kind of twin turns his back to a pleading face, what kind of twin refuses to face their fear and let’s their brother lead a life that could kill him, what kind of twin was he?

He starts fixing what he can. It comforts him; his hands stay steady, mind too focused on what he’s doing to think about eyes or whispers or teeth. He thinks of Stanley instead. Obsesses over Stanley, rather. He keeps seeing his brother, not floating into the mouth of the portal, but grinning hopeful and broken at him. It stands out, circles around him, makes him feel heavy and awful. He’d seen teeth missing in his brothers mouth. Had they rotted? Chipped? When had he last been to a dentist? Had the teeth been pulled? Had Stanley pulled them? Stanley had said something about chewing his way out of the trunk of a car. Had that been it?

Stanley. He’d been so diminished. Where had his weight gone? What had he been eating? What had he been _doing_? Prison. So many questions now, questions he hadn’t thought of until it was too late, until Stanley was… just gone. Was this separation better or worse than if Stanley had just taken the journal? What had _happened_ to his brother that he’d grinned at Ford so lost and hopeful? Why hadn’t Ford seen?

No.

Ford _had_ seen.

He’d just been too selfish to do anything about it.

Slowly the portal comes back together. Slowly he finishes fixing what had been broken. Slowly he goes through the steps to turn the portal back on. All that’s left is to pull the lever. He walks towards it, the portals humming growing louder, echoing through his basement. His arms feel heavy as he reaches out, grips the lever. Soon. Soon Stanley will be back, he’ll save him, he can ask all his questions, apologize, he can—

His arms won’t move.

Ford stands there, shaking, bones rattling from the way the portal vibrates through the ground. He can’t imagine what’s on the other side of the portal, doesn’t want to imagine, but Stanley doesn’t have a _choice_ he’s _living_ it, he might even be in front of the eye, the eye that fucking eye he might be in front of _Bill—_

Bill.

Bill wants the portal open. If Ford opens the portal, could Stanley get there before Bill? Can he risk that? Can he _not_ risk that? Billions of lives for one man, but not just a man, Stanley, Lee, his brother his twin the one he left to die for ten years, how could he possibly leave him to die again? How could he do that? How can he _open the portal and damn everyone_?

What would Stanley do?

Ford laughs, a little hysterically. Stanley had answered his cryptic call and been here in less than a week, after ten years of silence. Stanley had stood up for him, through thick and thin, all their childhoods. Stanley had come up with a dream for both of them, to escape, just so Ford could possibly be happy one day. He’d held to that dream, the dream of Ford being happy, he realizes with a sudden jolt, so hard through so many years.

What would Stanley do? He’d do everything he could to save Ford.

Silently, Ford finally gives into his grief and fear and cries.

\---

He doesn’t remember the last time the house has been this quiet.

He normally working late, or outside, or Fidds was around to make noise. Normally the voices would whisper to him, or the eyes would make their own, strange noise. Both had retreated though. For now. Too busy with another project, he supposes, gut twisting in on itself. He needs to do something to keep them away, to protect his brain, but what…

There are no brother sounds to distract him from his thoughts.

Closing his eyes, Ford hiccups. He’d cry, but he’d spent hours crying already. There was nothing left in him.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t open the portal, save his brother. He wasn’t Stanley. He wasn’t foolhardy, or brave. He obviously didn’t care about family the same way Stanley did. The portal sits under his house, dormant but intact. He can’t bear the thought of dismantling it now. Not with Stanley in it. What was he going to do? Damage control. He had to protect the portal, the house, himself… he had to…

Stanley…

_“Some brother,”_ his brother had hissed, in pain and his hopes shattered.

**_SOME BROTHER_** , Bill had taunted happily.

“Some brother,” Ford whispers, lips trembling.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm probably going to continue this? Maybe make a series? I haven't decided. I mostly have become obsessed with this show, like, a year too late and needed to do something about it. Please forgive me.
> 
>  
> 
> [I need more Gravity Falls on my tumblr, or actually just any Gravity Falls in general, can someone help me out? I'm seriously going crazy here.](http://www.glitterpukesoul.tumblr.com/)


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